


Ice Cream Sunday

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 1960s, Canon Character of Color, Community: bringthehappy, F/M, Female Character of Color, Fluff, Ice Cream, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Martha hated Sundays in 1969.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for, and first posted at, [](http://community.livejournal.com/bringthehappy/profile)[**bringthehappy**](http://community.livejournal.com/bringthehappy/), for the prompt _Martha/Ten ; icecreams in 1969_. Thank you to [](http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/profile)[**persiflage_1**](http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/) for pointing out some Brit-picks!

  
At first, Martha hated Sundays in 1969.

She had Wednesdays and Sundays off from her job in the shop. Her Wednesdays were split between domestic errands and the library, while the Doctor--aside from working on the timey-wimey detector--did whatever displaced Time Lords without a TARDIS did in that era. (She never asked, and he never said.) But Sundays seemed to rain without fail. Living week-to-week on her pay packet, there wasn't much to do on Sundays beyond sitting in their tiny two-room flat watching telly, or read. Martha tried her best to keep her spirits up, but as April turned to May and then headed towards June, they flagged as she began to wonder if they'd ever have the TARDIS back.

The first good-weather Sunday in 1969 was about six weeks after they arrived. By now used to interminable rain, Martha refused to get out of bed, but the Doctor kept bouncing around the flat, eventually driving her barmy with his cheeriness.

About eleven o'clock, fully scrubbed and dressed, he bounded into her bedroom. "At last, a sunny Sunday! Sunshine! It's glorious! Come on, get up, Martha Jones, we've a full day ahead."

"Get stuffed," she mumbled into the pillow.

"Oh, don't be like that, Martha." He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her shoulder. "It's a gorgeous day for a stroll."

Still bleary, she scowled at him, but he continued, more gently, "I know we can't afford much but we can still spend a day out. A picnic lunch, maybe? Or not. There's a free concert in the park this afternoon. What about it?"

He looked so eager and excited (and possibly guilty too, over how long they'd been stranded already), that Martha couldn't bring herself to refuse. "Oh, all right," she said. "An afternoon out sounds lovely."

"Brilliant!"

"Just let me get ready. And you can pack a lunch first."

She slipped into the bathroom down the hall while the Doctor packed sandwiches and fruit into a paper bag, then she shooed him out of her room so she could dress. She donned a lavender sleeveless mini-dress and low-wedge sandals bought from the thrift shop, and tied back her hair. When she stepped out into the main room, he gazed at her up and down, his face lit with approval.

"Oh, look at you, Martha Jones," he breathed. "You are beautiful."

She smoothed down the cotton, suddenly nervous. "Do you think?"

"The prettiest girl in the park." He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She grabbed a crocheted shawl and her handbag and they left the flat. After all the rain, the sun felt like a blessing, and Martha turned her face towards the sky. Her step soon picked up, and by the time they reached the park they were running hand-in-hand.

As promised, a local orchestra was playing Mozart in the bandstand when they arrived. The Doctor laid out his suit jacket for Martha to sit on while he lounged on the grass, and they ate their lunch. About halfway through the concert he began to fidget, so they wandered over to the nearby playground and commandeered two swings. Later, all swinged out, Martha couldn't help but giggle when the Doctor snitched a daisy from one of the flowerbeds and tucked it behind her ear. When he chased her through a wading fountain, she decided they were being thoroughly childish, and silly, and it didn't matter because she enjoyed every minute of it.

Of course the Doctor had to spy the ice cream van as it drove up the path. He clambered out of the fountain, his Converse squelching on the pavement. Martha, who at least had had the sense to remove her sandals before jumping in, followed, scooping up her shoes and shawl along the way.

"What do you think, Miss Jones?" He pointed towards the van. "Can we?"

Martha rummaged through her purse and pulled out various coins, counting out shillings and pennies. "We have just enough for one double-scoop cone, Mr. Smith," she said at last, "so we'll have to share."

"Brilliant!" He grabbed the coins from her hand and marched straight up to the ice cream van. She suppressed a fond smile. God, he really is a great big child sometimes, she thought.

"We'd like a double-scoop," he said, bouncing on his toes, and nodded at Martha trailing behind. "Lady's choice."

She glanced at the menu and said, "Mint, please."

She paid for the cone, and they walked slowly, arm-in-arm, taking turns. It was warm enough that the sun started to melt the ice cream faster than they could eat it.

"We should have grabbed extra napkins," Martha said.

The Doctor shrugged and took a bite. "Just have to eat it faster."

They arrived at a bench in a relatively secluded glade, and sat down side-by-side. Martha found herself mesmerized by the way the Doctor rolled his tongue around the cone, completely immersed in it. Literally as well as figuratively, she thought, upon seeing the smears of pastel green around his mouth when he handed the cone back to her.

"You've got ice cream on your cheek," Martha said. "Don't move." She moistened her thumb and gently wiped the smudges off his face. "Really, a grown--well, Time Lord--and such a mess. How old are you, six?" She then undermined her chiding by taking a generous bite of her own.

"Oi, look who's talking!" He looked vaguely put out, and she had to repress a grin. But he recovered and added, "I'm just enjoying the tasty creaminess."

It sounded vaguely suggestive, and she raised an eyebrow, but he only gave her a cheeky grin. "And do you know, you have ice cream on your face too, Miss Jones?" he continued. His gaze lingered on her lips. "If you'll let me return the favour..."

He bent down, and licked the ice cream from the corner of her mouth. She blinked in shock, but before she could register what was really happening, he dragged his tongue along her upper lip.

"Doctor?"

At that he slipped an arm around her and kissed her properly, his lips sliding against hers. His tongue gently probed her open mouth; Martha gasped and reflexively deepened the kiss. With her free hand she reached up to his neck, twining her fingers in his hair. She couldn't quite believe it: the Doctor and Martha Jones, snogging on a park bench on a summer Sunday in 1969. What would the girls in the shop say--? Then the Doctor moaned into her mouth and pressed harder, and she let herself be swept along by it.

After a minute or so, they pulled back; Martha felt dazed, and the Doctor looked rather affected too. "Wow. Just--what was that?"

"What do you think?" The Doctor cupped her shoulder, his eyes warm and bright. "My gorgeous Martha Jones," he said, "are you enjoying your day out?"

"Oh, yes."

"Good. I'm glad."

He moved to kiss her again, but Martha felt something wet tickle her arm. She drew back and made a face: rivulets of melted ice cream were trickling down her hand which held the now-disintegrating cone. "Ugh," she said. "This is disgusting. The cone's turned to mush!"

The Doctor inspected the mess and grinned. "Let me take care of it." He took the cone from her, peeled off the wet paper and smushed the whole thing into his mouth. She watched, both amused and repulsed as he chewed and swallowed. He then took her sticky hand and lazily began to suck the mint off her fingers.

What the--? "Doctor, you're licking me _in public_!"

"It's just saliva," the Doctor murmured against her wrist, "it's perfectly clean."

Martha noticed a couple of passersby with outright scandalized expressions on their faces. Half mortified herself, she felt her cheeks redden. "Stop it!" Martha hissed, and pulled her hand back. "Stop it now! People are looking."

"All right then, not in public." He stopped and looked up at her, his eyes smoldering with an intention too blatant to miss, and he leaned in close to whisper, "So how about I lick you off in private instead?"

Oh, God. She drew a sharp breath against the sudden heat that flooded her core. "You're just full of surprises today," she replied, her pulse racing. "Maybe we should go back home and continue this there."

He pressed a kiss against her palm. "Maybe we should," he agreed, nuzzling her hair; she shivered at his voice, low and rough in her ear. "But I don't know if I can wait that long, Miss Jones."

"Why, Mr. Smith," she remonstrated, "control yourself, if you please." Looking over her shoulder, she scanned around the clearing until she spied a locked shed about fifty feet back. "Over there, just what we need."

He turned in the same direction, following her gaze. "Oh, you are amazing."

They waited until no one was paying attention, then made their way to the shed nestled between two trees. The Doctor withdrew his sonic screwdriver and opened the door. He smirked; Martha giggled, took his hand and pulled him inside, making sure the Doctor sonicked the door shut behind them.

Later, much later, after they finally wended their way home, they lay naked on Martha's narrow bed, cool in the rush of air from the table fan.

Martha hoisted herself on her elbow and looked down at him. "A shame I have to go back to work tomorrow," she said, drawing circles on his chest.

"We could nip out and buy a pint of ice cream," the Doctor said, "for Wednesday." He waggled his eyebrows. "What do you think? Chocolate this time?"

"You are incorrigible!" She rolled her eyes. "But okay. Special treat, why not."

"Very special," he said, and pulled her on top of him again. "Oh yes, I couldn't agree more."

And that was how Martha came to love Sundays (and Wednesdays too) in 1969.


End file.
